Black Dahlia
by crossmyheartforever
Summary: A single name, Black Dahlia, thrusts Syaoran into a game of ephemeral allies, unexpected betrayals, labyrinthine love and a nonexisting end. SxS
1. Prologe

_**A/N: Reposted and re-edited. -And still not finished editing. Hopefully this'll be it though. Had enough of replacing original documents. (:**_

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♣♣♣♣ **_B l a c k D a h l i a _**♣♣♣♣

_P r e l u d e _

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_Sounds of desperate shouts and raw gasps for air imprinted Syaoran's mind. Showers of bullets rained down on the passengers of the plane. It was a perfect blending of music that brought out sadistic pleasure in the terrorists. An air rifle suddenly swiveled acutely to the left, in perfect target for where Syaoran's head was. His amber eyes widened and blinked shut. Half a second tops, Syaoran scrambled under his chair, his arms and legs sprawled out in painful angles. The bullets shot out and dug themselves deep into the armchair. _

_Sometimes when your mind shuts down completely and you're left there to stand completely blank of any thought, your survival instincts kicks in and amazing how fast you can move. The autonomic reflex system, primitive reflexes. Bam, bam, bam, and you happen to live on, take a new course for life._

_Meanwhile, the other passengers that didn't happen to have such luck suffered watching other before them get splattered by their neighbor's and their own blood, waiting for their own turn. The crimson color of life was their last farewell._

_Syaoran reopened his eyes again to find the bodies of both his parents lying on the red-stained carpet of the plane. Small hand guns were clutched tightly in their hands. _

_Mixtures of shock, confusion, fear, depression and self blame filled his sanity. A gunner walked past his hiding place, a twenty or so year old man with mousy black hair surveying the damage. His expression was blank but his eyes were dancing with amusement. _

_Syaoran didn't dare reach his hands toward the guns his parents had with them, and attempt to shoot the man. But he did take notice the badge the man and the rest of the terrorists wore. _

_It was a red circle, with a black flower on it, which he later found to be a group of Japanese terrorists by the name of Black Dalia. _

_At that moment, ten year old Syaoran swore to himself, he would grow up, become a respectable CIA agent like his father and mother and seek revenge. _

_♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣_

_In another part of the city _

_The sky was dimly lit. A greenish glow was lit across the roof tops. Perhaps, it was the spirit of dawn, or the awakening of the death god. Under the pale moon, stood two figures. Their genders which could be scene after walking towards them. A male and a female, hands intertwined._

_From the beginning of the night things were determined. Fate decided._

_A bloody opening to what was the beginning of a mislead orphan's life. The two figures stood, each facing the eerie darkness. The street lamps were dimly lit, not a sound from humans nor late night prowlers._

_In the woman's arms, was a girl, only toddler of age. Her bright green orbs seemed to question the odd behavior of her parents. Again, perhaps everything was already planned. The death of two adults, two lovers, for the life of their child._

_All that was heard, were the silent pleads from the woman and the sounds of fighting. At last the sound of a pistol sliced through the atmosphere. Another followed it. No screams came. Simply the cry of the girl being taken away._

_♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣_

Present:

Tokyo – November 16 -2 AM

"Who are you?" a cunningly looking man demanded. His black hair was slicked back, his thin lips grimacing. The dining room where the man sat in a buffet table was elegant and furnished with beautiful details. A crystal chandelier hanged in the middle of the large room illuminating each and every corner and edge of the room.

A girl sporting a huge canvas bag stared back with a cold stare. Her auburn hair was pinned back by black hair clips. A black spandex suit clothed her built figure. Covering her hands were a pair of thin combat gloves. The girl didn't so much as flinch to the tone directed towards her. It was figured, she had failed her previous mission.

Sakura looked up at the man in front of her, her jaw clenched. The man stood in front of her was her supposedly step-father.

"Sakura, father." Sakura responded monotonously. Her eyes were downcast and her body position was robotic like; back straight and erect, hands behind her, and eyes strongly averted to the floor.

"Where are you parents?" The man asked again, his eyes closed expecting the usual answer. He let himself sink deeply in the luxurious chair. His blue-black silk robes sunk along with him in ripples.

"They died during archaeology trip on a plane; you are my rightful father now." Sakura responded off the top of her tongue. She didn't feel the cruelty of loosing blood-related parents. She didn't remember them. They weren't part of her life. There was nothing to feel.

"Who do you listen to and what is your purpose?" The man spoke reaching a pale arm towards the china teacup on the mahogany table.

"I only listen to you, father. My purpose is to kill as many of our enemies as possible and destroy all other means of barriers from our plans. Sakura said her tone bitter and malicious.

"Why would you listen to me, little cherry blossom?" The man looked at her, carefully pronouncing the last two words in fluent English. He admired her appearance, she was a beautiful tool. An epitome of perfection. No unneeded feelings.

"There is no other I will obey. My life is given by you, and can be taken any time by you, father. Your enemies are my enemies. Your success is my success. Your death wishes to others are my orders."

"What happens when one day, you decide to let me down? What about the day you decide to betray everyone including me?" With that he gave eye contact, angleing his head 180 degrees, his steel grey eyes penetrating any little comfort brought to Sakura.

"I die."

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Los Angeles –November 17-5 PM

A tall building highlighted the darkening skyline of Los Angeles. As a outsider, a simple glance at it gave off the adress of a posh hotel or apartment, for its many windows that faced toward the South, giving of what most home owners knew in Los Angeles, as a great angle for the sun and a excellent view.

Giving further confirmation, the building had a total of twenty flours, giving another point for its oringinality.

The inside walls were painted a azure blue. Caucasian crown modeling hid the union of the wall and the ceiling. Drop down windows hollowed out the two main sides of the building. All was very well built for comfort, to bad, the people here weren't 'relaxing' nor taking any notice of it, the opposite in that case.

It was only a facade for the temporary headquarters of the CIA.

A room at the end of the corridor on the 8th floor, labeled _Agent Syaoran Li_, gave off soft vibrating sounds through the sound proof walls. It rung repetitively, but the owner of the cell phone, didn't answer it.

Inside the room was less welcoming. The walls were depressing grey tone, the carpets a slate black. Show case Japanese originated swords hung of the wall, adding bits of color. New advanced technology wounded through the ceiling to the carpets.

Large full length windows gave the owner a well perspective view of the city. A man sat on the leather chair behind his mahogany desk. His eyes were closed shut, tossled chestnut hair covering the most part of them. He gave an impression of being asleep.

The last sound of the vibrating brought the young man's attention back to the present. Cracking a single eye open, he ran a hand through his messy hair, while squinting uncomfortably trying to adjust to the bright light in his office.

He tugged his cell phone out of his suit pocket and glared at it fiercely. The vibrating had stopped; the other end had already set down the phone.

**Call Missed… **

**Number: 714-525-1313 **

**Call back: Yes l No**

Syaoran, said man's name, exhaled deeply, frustrated at the cell phone for an unknown reason. Without hesitation he stuffed the small device back in his suit pocket, ignoring the call. It wasn't from someone he knew nor gave his number to. Little did he know, he made a important mistake that second.

His brown eyes wandered back towards the flat-screen TV on the wall. The video was currently on freeze frame. The scene was in a ballroom, where many higher up class people flittered around. Most were either talking among themselves or sitting in a chair drinking a glass of wine. Few danced to the slow symphony music.

The dinner-party was held by a famous fashion designer, Elliot Anderson, a name known by most Americans. It was on November, 14th, three days ago in Los Angeles.

Nothing seemed out of order, until five to 12 pm. A false alarm. A sudden lock down happened seconds after, trapping the guests inside the mansion. The entrance doors were automatically locked and metal slide shutters dropped down, preventing any escapes. Like most cases, electricity was cut off.

Someone had definitely tampered with the security system. Screamings and any other noises of chaos were heard throughout the video.

No one was hurt, but Mr. Anderson was taken hostage by a lady around the ages of 20 with long black hair and green eyes. However, the man had been discovered by a guest knocked out of conscious state in the closet an hour later. Details of the lady was very limited due to…according to the police there, everything. Nice.

Even Anderson, himself was ditsy and couldn't provide any evidence much less details of the exact appearance of the lady.

It didn't follow the usual crime cases. Since no evidence could be provided and no heavily damages were made, the case was called off by Anderson.

Syaoran suspected something went wrong own their mission. Were they trying to steal something? Did Anderson not have it? Or was this all a decoy?

The main evidence was a pink, glass brooch shaped like flowers.

Those flowers were Nadeshikos, Syaoran guessed as he remembered the old flower garden their family used to have.

Fingering the edges and glassy surface, he recalled what the old fortune teller at the end of Sixty four Avenue Roadway had once said to a girl.

"Nadeshiko are usually thought as more feminine and chaste. Traditionally said for woman to look weak, delicate and gentle outside, but is able to cope with house holding, raising kids. This is a good sign, Kiko. Hopefully you lead a good life and have good health…"

Very peculiar for a kidnapper.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

_Los Angeles –November 17- 4:50 PM_

A man dressed in a black/grey leather jacket and blue jeans swaggered down the dark alley, a small revolver in his hands. In his other fist was a small cell phone. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he desperately tried to stay hidden in the shadows. Coming to a slight clearing, where his eye sight adjusted to the dark he jammed his fingers at his the cell phone again. The small silver device wasn't his, technically he had stolen it from someone, but this was an emergency.

After three dials, the other end still wouldn't pick up. His chest heaved exaggeratedly, letting out endless strings of curses. Looking toward the garbage littered gravel he clutched the wound on his abdomen. The blood flowing from the bullet had long been dismissed by the young man, but it wouldn't take long for him to pass into a half asleep half dreaming state.

His black hair looked messy and ruffled, along with his entire appearance. Slowly he let himself sunk against the disgusting graffiti covered wall. His eyes grew tired and droopy.

"Pick up the forsaken phone…you knucklehead…" were the last words he murmured before slipping into a long sleep.

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_I apologize for the constant changing of story-line/well not totally changing anything. I'm just editing and trying to improve what has already been written. Me and a friend are testing this fic with _'the'_ test run. So, for those that have already read, the next part would be basically a repeat of what you have already read. But please still take a glimpse at it, in case of anything you missed and will have to question later. Thanks for reading, and please review! 


	2. Mission EST

_A/N: Yay! Finally finished editing and writing. Hopefully more people will opt to take a glimpse at this fic and review, cause I'm really quite suffering here with only two reviews. ♣ Laughs♣_

_Oh well, please enjoy and see you later on the next chapter._

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**♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ Black Dahlia♣ ♣ ♣ ♣**

Misson EST

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_**A week later…**_

The weather was still quiet chilly in Los Angeles, and predicted to rain later on in the afternoon. Syaoran looked outside from his drop down window in his temporary apartment. Skyscraper crowded the city, along with cars that honked constantly at one another. Visible black puffs of smoke came from various places. He turned his amber eyes back at his messy room. The apartment looked more like a hotel rather than a cozy apartment building, with its matching curtains, carpet, and bedcovers. The wallpaper was forest green, with beige stripes going up and down.

His mouth crinkled. His usual organized floors were covered with maps, and layout drawings of Los Angeles. Highlighters, pens, and markers were sprawled across the rug.

Again like a week ago a faint vibrating sound disrupted the comfortable silence. A file was found in his inbox, telling him the whereabouts of his new mobile for the upcoming mission.

Syaoran glanced at the windows again, finding a thin layer of what seemed to be frost coating the surface. He grabbed his black wool trench coat of the hanger and walked out of the door, double locking it.

Quickly, his legs brought him to the main lobby of the building. A crystal chandelier hanged in the middle of the room casting a dripping candle lit glow. Passing by the marble sculpted fountain that took on the shape of a fountain, he flicked several coins into it muttering a quick wish.

As he stepped outside, a chill blew over him, feeling his lips slightly cracked.

Syaoran circled around the car brought over by the agency for his new mission. Amidst the lot of cars, it stood out like a sore thumb.

A pitch black Vanquish S Aston Martin.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

"I informed the rest of your squad, Agent Eriol, and Tomoyo to accompany you on this mission." A man around 30 instructed Syaoran. He was sitting in the middle of a dark octagonal room, filled with computers, and gadgets. A flat screened TV hanged from the ceiling against the wall. The man had messy russet hair and hazel eyes. His dress was dark, and faded into his surroundings, a black button down shirt, and a pair of casual grey jeans. With a flick of his wrist the once blank screened TV came to life.

'Taki', or what everyone at the base calls him, was the "commander" for Syaoran's CIA unit.

Syaoran turned his attention to the screen. The words 'Mission EST' came up followed by a photograph of a woman around the age 18 to 20. The woman had slate black hair that flowed past her shoulders. Two piercing indigo eyes were set delicately on her heart shaped face along with a pair of delicate, blood red lips. Her appearance was none less exceptional, than a model's.

Taki pointed his index finger at the woman on the screen. "Takara Nakamuru, daughter of Yoshifumi Nakamuru, a wealthy business man. He owns several companies in the United States as well Taiwan."

Syaoran nodded mentally taking points on the names.

"The mission is no where near complicated as your last. Involves no gathering of evidence or tracking down suspects. Your main goal is to protect Miss Nakamuru from any possible danger. A lower member of the Black Dahlia group provided us information during interrogation, for a possible attack on the daughter of Mr. Nakamuru, during her twentieth birthday party. False information might have been given though. The man, that gave us the information, suicided yesterday."

Syaoran narrowed his eyes, unknowingly, shifted into a guarded position.

Taki watched Syaoran with a grim expression. "The mission starts tonight, beginning with your flight Chicago, which I had Midori, my underhand schedule. A packet of information will be handed to you by Midori, when you leave here. You are due here, with a mission report five days from now, at twelve o'clock sharp."

Syaoran lifted two fingers to his forehead in a salute before turning heading towards the door.

"Good luck." Taki added.

Sure enough, a lady was standing outside the door with a black, leather tote bag, looking quite overwhelmed.

Syaoran glanced at the lady, presuming her to be Midori, before nodding his head towards the bag. She smiled gently, a blush tinting her cheeks before handing the overstuffed tote towards him.

Syaoran swung the tote over his shoulders and walked towards his new car.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

A brown haired girl lay in the middle of her room, her legs sprawled rather awkwardly. A hand was rested on her stomach. Labored breathing came from said girl. A small amount of blood dribbled on the floor, but little did she pay any attention to it.

Sakura stared at the ceiling intently. It was really white. To the s state that each and tiny little speck of dirt could be seen. It annoyed her to no ends. Why in the world did someone paint the freaking wall a color that could blind someone?

The wood floor was also a cream whitish color, along with the table, chairs and other decor along with it. The other rooms were also similarly decorated.

She had just come from 'The Pit' as referred so by everyone around her. The pit was the mere nickname for a fighting stadium. Players face each other one against one, in hand to hand combat until one is excessively harmed or dies. The irony of it all was just hilarious, her 'father' only uses 'The Pit' to get rid of lousy fighting people. Have a well-skilled higher level ups assassinator fight against the lower, and by logic, the latter would eventually die.

Other times, it was just for fun. Randomly match two people, usually winning first or second places, and watch them fight to their last breathe. Sadistic. She didn't mind killing, but necessary wringing of necks didn't bring pleasure to her, unlike her stepfather.

_Two figures circled each other in a crouched stance, ready to launch at each other. One was a female, the other a man, yet both seemed similar in their confidence and patience. The man was of stature build, wearing loose draw pants and a baggy t-shirt. The other was dressed in similar outfit. Sakura threw a punch towards the man, knowing he would attempt to twist it back. As the man lowered his stance, he suddenly swiped out a hand and grabbed Sakura by the left ankle, with a push from his right arm, he flipped behind her. Sakura immediately forced her body the other direction directing a powerful, horseshoe kick towards the man's head. Unfortunately for her the man again held down bother her feet in mid air and pushed her to the ground. Out of her peripheral she stole a glance at the man's face, which had been previously covered by a piece of black cloth until it had slipped when her fist had connected with his nose. The second worth of time perplexed her even farther. The man's face was similar to a real human's. It had all the right exponents. But it could be interpreted as no face too. For there was no expression. _

_Just as he managed to straddle her, he fell back wincing in pain, from a kick to a fatal spot of the male anatomy. Taking the few seconds he lost, Sakura ran toward her with her elbow out, jutting him severely in the gut area. No blood poured out of his mouth. No matter how harmed and shabby he looked, little did anything damage his stamina and well précised hits. He was not what a regular human, with years of training, should be reacting. His speed was unnervingly, always keeping up with her, and many times going above her level. They each received harmful blows, but kept going on. _

_She could swear, he wasn't a regular assassinator. _

Grimacing, Sakura lifted her arm, exposing of the one and a half inch deep finger dugged hole in her flesh. It held quite a sum of pain, but her mind was much occupied with other matters for treating it properly.

Instead she let her hands drift over a canvas bag that Washi had given her this morning that lay a few feet away from her. Inside were her new mission papers. This time, her team was supposed to steal something off Takara, Nakamuru, whose father is a wealthy business man that stood third, fourth place in industrial ranks in the United States. While her team, which consisted of two others, Jack and Chiharu played diversion, her job was to steal a jade amulet. Misson EST.

A photograph slipped out from behind the stack of folders. It was a close-up of a piece of jade. A light greenish white round stone the size of a person's fist. There was nothing really special about it with the exception of several calligraphic writings.

Sakura folded the photograph and slipped it back inside the canvas bag.

An airplane ticket was stuffed inside a clear plastic folder. The word ' CHICAGO' was printed at the space next to 'arriving'.

Nakamuru's daughter was having a birthday bash, or so it was written on the paper and a masquerade ball was going to be held. Sakura smiled inwardly, things were going to be a lot easier with masks and costumes.

Just out of her window, rain started pelting on the earth. Pretty soon a lightning striked the ground, jolting Sakura slightly. Sakura closed her eyes, and lifted her chin up in the air trying to imagine the feeling of rain against her cheeks. The humid, clammy scent that only belonged to the droplets of water from the sky. Playing with an abandoned cylinder piece of metal in her fingers, a sudden wave of nausea hit her.

An image of her mother clouded her mind. The figure of her mother in the photograph was rather worn out through the years of traveling around in her back pant pocket. Through her memory lanes, little was remembered about her, except the old telling of fairytales and stories. The ending was always a happily ever after. It was always the grand rainfall that closed off the story.

Storytellers describe it as sweet and earthly, but when you actually breathe in its smell, is that how it smells? Is it really the tears of the innocent? Is it really the finale touch to a magnificent romance?

Sakura wondered, opening her eyes revealing sparkling green eyes that had dulled into a lusterless sea green.

It's disgusting how people make up all these lies when they don't even know themselves.

Her fingers bended the rod of metal, little did she take in, that a crack appeared on the side of it.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Syaoran grimaced at the sight of his closet. He had been trying to avoid it for the past number of days. The top half was completely stuffed. From top to bottom with mini laptops, multiple cell phones, beepers and other CIA toys. The bottom half was filled with clothes that were folded. _Were_, being the keyword.

Syaoran slowly slid the door open, a crushing weight smacked into his body. A string of heavily said curses vibrated through the room.

A second later did he open his eyes, which his body protested against highly. The sight was quite impressive for one's eyes to behold. Pile of things that only Syaoran himself could identify. In other words, a mountain of garbage.

It was a wonder how he ever managed to pack his suitcase. But again he was wondrous man.

Syaoran had carefully looked through the leather tote, to find his whole wardrobe already prepared. There was hardly a piece of clothing that didn't come from a well known fashion designer. Along with it came a bullet-prove vest. Two handguns were tucked inside an X-ray safe case along with several boxes of bullets.

His fake passport and background info were already in his hands. His name was Uruki Yamamoto. His career was a doctor. Taki mentioned that Tomoyo and Eriol managed to make fake invitations to Miss. Takaru's birthday party. It wasn't exactly fool-prove but good enough to pass through the doors.

Brushing his hair, and forcefully slicked it down with gel, he rummaged through his wardrobe for a pair of glasses. Minutes later, he glared into the mirror. He looked awful. That is his _own_ opinion, mind you.

A white glowing flash lit the room. Seconds later following it, a thundering rumble ripped through the calm air. Syaoran stopped in the middle of dragging his suitcase up. He straightened his back and stared out his window. The clouds were heavy and threatened to never let the sun take its role again. The whole sky was washed with grey, navy, and purple. "Dang..." he muttered softly.

Taking one last glance at his apartment, he left the room.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Syaoran closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, avoiding the small gasps and squeaks of panic surrounding him. The plane had abruptly accoutered turbulence during mid-flight. Syaoran bit the inside of his mouth in an attempt to stop the residing urge to grab the arm rests in a vain assurance. He felt his heart drop along with the plane along with his full stomach. He was never quite fond of planes ever since he was rescued from the plane crash. The details of his 'miracle' survival were blurry when he suffered a brief amnesia.

A few seconds later the turbulence resided a bit. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Beside him a man was squinting his eyes shut and held his hands in a praying position. Syaoran momentarily glanced at him.

"Oh lord Jesus, spare my life for I would for ever remain in your dept! Oh, please, I still have a girlfriend in Chicago! We haven't met in five years! She is beautiful in all ways like an angel, her kind soul pure and lovely like so. Spare her the sorrow of her hearing upon my death on this ugly plane!"

Syaoran raised an eyebrow. A wonder someone could actually think of that many words to say in times like this.

Syaoran breathed a deep breath of relief when the plane stopped jiggling.

"Sir…Yamamoto? Very sorry for my rudeness, but if I'm correct; you are the famous plastic surgeon Uruki Yamamoto?" The man next to Syaoran exclaimed with surprise. His plump beet red face was filled with excitement and curiosity.

A image a crumpled piece of paper in the corner of his suit backed Syaoran up.

**Uruki Yamamoto**

**Japanese plastic surgeon- son of Koki Yamamoto and Rin Yamamoto. Koki Yamamoto, also a well known plastic surgeon, died four years later after the birth of his son, leaving radiologist, Rin Yamamoto to take of the Yamamoto heir. According to a leak out from --------- ---- the family was part of the lineage from the...**

Syaoran cleared his throat while crossing his legs, in what he hoped to be a formal position.

Nodding curtly he gave a faint smile. His amber eyes analyzed the American for any signs of doubt in his words. Thankfully he took the bait quite nicely. Did people recognize his appearance as this Yamamoto person that much...?

"It is my very highest pleasure to meet the one and only Mr. Yamamoto! In fact, I remember your dear father had once appointed mine! It was during the year...nevermind that. name is Roy Cambridge, son of Duke Cambridge. Do you recall anything said about him from your father?"

At four years old? Tch...don't think so.

"I'm afraid not, but I do recall him telling me of a generous and most well known man that could very well be your father. Please forgive my humbleness." Syaoran gave a ghost of a smile again. Might as well go along.

The American beamed with pride. He noticeably puffed his chest out and lifted his chin up. His beige Armani suit crinkled as he lifted a hand for Syaoran to shake.

Syaoran's gaze flickered toward the man for unnoticeable half a second.While lifting his hand a slight tremble in his pocket tickled his thighs. Syaoran muttered an apology to the confused man. "One of my clients..."

Heading toward the back of the plane he clicked the phone to talk even before he looked at the number. Only several people knew of his new acquainted cell number, Eriol, Tomoyo, and Taki. There plan was as scheduled: Syaoran left on AA airlines, half an hour earlier than the Eriol, who booked a flight on United Airlines. Arriving last in Chicago, Tomoyo, five hours behind. Later, they would meet up again at the Masquerade Party, without any further contact the next day.

The seatbelt sign was still lit after the turbulence. A flight attendent rushed after him telling him to sit back down, but wavered after a crooked smile from Syaoran. It was doubtlessly a female. Somehow he had to smile more than ever today...

"Uruki Yamamoto…" Syaoran leaned against the side of the plane.

Each of them, Tomoyo and Eriol also Tomoyo, who had an amazing love for fashion landed in the role of a woman's fashion designer. Tomoyo was _the _Kikou Li, the one and only 26 year old billionaire in south Japan. The real Kikou had already given her documents and permission on using her identification, same goes for Syaoran and Eriol's person that they masked themselves as.

'Loire Vinci' was Eriol's fake identity name. Eriol had specifically insisted on finding a well known person, by the name of Loire, which was his name backwards.

"Sup my dear friend? Loire Vinci here calling!" Eriol announced in a cheerful voice.

Syaoran grimaced. "Lower your voice! Aren't you on a plane?" He whispered carefully watching the passengers in their seats and taking a glimpse of his watch. Eriol should be on his plane…

"Not to worry! Not to worry! I'm in the _toilette_. All's going according to _the grand magician_." Eriol said this time a pitch lower. _The grand magician_ was what Eriol had opted to call their plan.

Syaoran blinked back a look of pure agitation. Count on Eriol to act like a brainless idiot. What's so sound-prove about a toilette?

"Is this all you have to say… _Loire_? If that's all that I'm going to hang up." Syaoran hissed a soft snake like sound that sounded even unfamiliar to his own ears.

"Wait! Can't you're most caring and loving friend ask about your flight? I feel especially hurt to know…."

"I don't care about your welfare…" Roy glanced at Syaoran from a_ few feet away_...did he change seats?

Syaoran avoided his gaze and continued changing his original choice of words "Yes, I'll be home soon, _dear_." By now, he had fathered quite an audience due to Roy and his apparently outrageously big mouth.

Hearing the strangled gasp from Eriol, Syaoran immediately flipped the phone shut. Crud, Eriol would not let him forget that. That was definitely not what he had intended to say…

Syaoran slipped the cell phone into his pant pocket walking back to his seat.

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Sakura sat in an isolated area in her gate, C 24. She was busy scanning the people surrounding her, while appearing to be filing her nails. Her hair was back to its original style but brown contacts were in place, hiding her green eyes. Her attire included a pair of grey slacks, and a short sleeved teal charmeuse blouse. A black trench coat was added to tie the colors together. Slinked around her right shoulder was a $2000 Fendi Ivory Spy Bag.

Several people stared at her within the hour; their gazes were filled with interest and amazement.

A woman with sleek violet hair took a seat next to Sakura, causing her to jerk her head toward the intruder. The lady seemed not a bit out of place, ignoring the vigorous look she was receiving from the auburn.

Two silver chopstick-like clips were holding a strand of hair from each side of her head, letting the rest cascade down upon her shoulders. A pair of midnight orbs examined Sakura in a knowing manner.

Sakura was about to open her mouth to say something when the woman beat her to it. "Hello. Am I intruding you by sitting here?"

Sakura shook her head and pretended to file her nails again. A swift of perfume entered her nose. Sakura glanced at the woman. The lady was absent mindedly typing something on her mini laptop. Sakura edged over a bit catching a glance at the screen. **_La Diva Fashion._**

♣ ♣ ♣ ♣ ♣

Three people each dressed plainly like regular civilians sat on the floor of a hotel room. Each had arrived barely two hours ago each on different flight schedules.

Sakura among the other two, as the leader sat with her back against the table, looking stressed and annoyed. Chiharu and Jack sat beside her, in similar positions.

"Ne, Sakura-chan, you actually looked pretty smokin back there, never knew our little capt looked so freakin adorable in rich folk clothes." Jack teased her.

Sakura shook her head, while checking her watch. She had adapted the habit to check her watch constantly, even when she didn't need to know the time. The soft click of the minute hand soothed her nerves. Their mission would take action after the guests had began to settle down and drift off on their own.

So now, what they were doing was: Messing Around.

Chiharu giggled at Jack's comment, and prodded her finger harshly into his chest, receiving only a flirtatious grin from him. Sakura gave a notion of gagging behind her hand.

Jack was born in Japan, but his mother was a European, so his given name was Jack Higashiyama. He had brown hair that was lightly spiked, and black eyes, that was currently hidden by his contacts. A head taller than both Chiharu and Sakura, he was another victim to girl's attention. And also a major flirt. -Security System Destroyer/Computer Hacker.

Chiharu, despite her child like face was extremely quick and witty when it came ti strategies.

Sakura turned her head towards the other two, finding them whacking each other with the feather pillows. She was about to say something, before a pillow socked her in the face.

A few seconds later, a red-faced Sakura popped up. The two were puffing out their cheeks to keep from laughing. This was _so_ on.

Half an hour later, the room was flooded with feathers. Both Sakura and Chiharu giggled as they started playing with Jack's hair, tying it into what they guessed to be a bun, with loose strands sticking out everywhere.

A knock on the door made them stop. Sakura brought her finger to her lips, signaling the others to be quiet. She made her way to the door, opening it to find a man with several boxes of pizza in his hands.

"Room 124, called for room service? Two large cheese and pepperoni pizzas?" He spoke with his eyes, directed to a small notebook he held.

Sakura almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is that pizza I smell, Saku baby?" She heard a male voice practically whine at her. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm definitely hungry! After this…I call the bathroom first!" yelled Chiharu.

To think that tomorrow, they would be out on a mission to steal a priceless item off the hands of the daughter of the Yoshifumi Nakamuru.

* * *

Ouch, my neck really hurts craning over the keyboard... Anyways, Ja to you. 


End file.
